


Punches

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fighting, Fluff, M/M, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Grantaire Shipping Week. One day a month, Grantaire and Bahorel, rival trainers at the boxing gym, face off against each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punches

**Author's Note:**

> This is short because I traumatically injured my thumb before typing this.
> 
> Mostly just fluffy sparring.
> 
> I own nothing.

In the locker room of one of the biggest boxing gyms in town, one of the fighters sat down next to another, nudging him companionably. “Are you ready for today?”

“Absolutely!” the second fighter grinned, slamming his locker door shut. “I wait for this day all month long. It’s the greatest.”

A third fighter who had been listening to their conversation leaned in. “What’s going on today?”

The two fighters glanced at each other before the first asked, “You know Grantaire and Bahorel?”

“Of course,” the third fighter said, nodding. “Grantaire’s my trainer. He’s the best. The way he moves — damn. I wish I could be as swift as that, you know?”

“Yeah, we know,” the second fighter said. “Well once a month, Grantaire and Bahorel face off against each other. Simple fight, simple rules: no punches to the face, no hitting below the belt. Anything else is on the table.”

The first guy grinned widely. “It’s fucking  _brutal_.”

A fourth guy poked his head into the locker room. “Dude, it’s already started. Get your asses out here. The fight only lasted ten minutes last time.”

The three fighters looked at each other before pushing and struggling in their fight to get to the door and be the first out to see Bahorel and Grantaire spar.

In the ring, Bahorel was grinning at Grantaire, who was smiling sweetly at him, his dark curls already plastered against his head by sweat. Both of them were barechested, and both were breathing heavily. “You about ready to give up?” Bahorel asked, his grin turning into a smirk. “I think I won in seven minutes last time.”

“It was ten minutes, asshole,” Grantaire said calmly, eyeing Bahorel cautiously as they circled. “And I won the three fights before that, so are you sure  _you_  aren’t ready to give up? Because I will take your surrender at any time.”

Bahorel just laughed before sending a few quick jabs at Grantaire’s chest, which Grantaire deftly blocked. “Oh, I ain’t surrendering anytime soon, bucky. Don’t you worry about that.”

Grantaire sniggered. “Bucky? Is that the best you got?” He swung low at Bahorel’s waist, testing his defenses. “I mean, at least work some swears in there or something, you know? We’re adults here. You’re not gonna insult me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bahorel snarled, though he was still grinning. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want, ace.” Grantaire landed a punch on Bahorel’s shoulder and he winced as he darted backward. “Fucking Jesus. Douche.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to laugh, but then someone called from the crowd, “Yeah, Bahorel!”, and Bahorel turned to look. Grantaire, who had been aiming a punch at Bahorel’s other shoulder, aimed too high, especially as Bahorel turned, and decked him full in the face, knocking him down to the mat.

“Oh fuck, man!” Grantaire exclaimed, dropping to his knees next to Bahorel, who lay groaning against the mat. “Dude, I did not mean to hit you that hard, and you weren’t looking, and I am so sorry.”

Bahorel blinked up at him and rolled his head tentatively as if checking to make sure everything was still functioning, and then pouted up at Grantaire. “That hurt,” he complained, slowly propping himself up on his elbows to glare at him.

Grantaire winced sympathetically at the red mark that preceded the inevitable bruise already spreading across Bahorel’s cheek. “Yeah, I’m sure it does. I’m sorry.”

For a moment Bahorel just looked up at Grantaire, but then his expression turned contemplative. “You were the one who hurt it, so you should make it better. Kiss it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Grantaire asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Bahorel grinned. “You heard me.” He gave Grantaire his best puppy dog eyes. “Kiss me and make it better.”

Grantaire spluttered, rocking back on his heels. “You’re as bad as fucking Courfeyrac, I swear to God. I am not going to kiss you in front of everyone.” Bahorel just pouted even more, and Grantaire shook his head. “Nope, not going to happen.”

Before Grantaire could tell what was happening, Bahorel had launched himself at him, wrestling him to the ground and straddling his thighs so that he couldn’t move. “Kiss me and make it better,” he growled, “Or else.”

Staring up at him, Grantaire gritted his teeth. “You are five fucking years old, I swear to God.” When Bahorel made no move to let him up, Grantaire rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Big baby. Stupid fucker.” He leaned up as much as Bahorel’s body weight would allow him to press a quick peck on the bruise forming on Bahorel’s cheek. “Are you happy now?”

“Not quite,” Bahorel said, though he was grinning. “You hit my shoulder really hard, too.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes again but kissed Bahorel’s shoulder. “ _Now_  are you fucking happy?”

Bahorel’s grin had softened. “Well, you see, I would be, but when you punched me in the face — completely violating the terms of our fight agreement, I would add — I think you might have knocked one of my teeth loose, and I definitely tasted blood in my mouth.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What in the hell do you want me to do about that?” Bahorel just smirked before puckering his lips. “No. No way in hell.” Bahorel stared at him unblinkingly and Grantaire groaned. “Fine. Jesus  _fucking_  Christ, never again you stupid fucking—”

Whatever he was going to say was lost as he pulled himself up to kiss Bahorel gently on the mouth. Whether he had planned on it only being as brief a kiss as his previous ones or not, Bahorel leaned in to the kiss, slipping a gloved hand behind Grantaire’s head to hold him up as they kissed.

The fighters who had gathered to watch them sparring broke into nervous giggles as they kissed, but when it was clear that neither intended to break the kiss anytime soon, they began whooping and cheering for their respective trainers.

Bahorel broke away first, grinning savagely, and he got to his feet, bending over to help Grantaire up, who was also grinning. “You are a complete asshole,” Grantaire informed him, kissing him again, his arm circling Bahorel’s waist.

The door to the gym opened and an unfamiliar fighter walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw what Grantaire and Bahorel were doing. “What the fuck? Are you two queer or something?” the fighter asked, staring at them with a disgusted look on his face. “Can’t believe that I thought I wanted to train under a fag.”

Bahorel and Grantaire just glanced at each other, matching grins spreading across their faces. “You ready for this, sweetheart?” Grantaire asked, winking at Bahorel, who was cracking his knuckles in his most menacing manner.

“Oh, honeybear, you have no idea how ready I am for this.” He paused only to drop a swift kiss to Grantaire lips before grinning in a decidedly wolfish fashion at the fighter, who suddenly looked a lot less confident than he previously had. “Now let’s show him what two queers can do.”


End file.
